


I'll meet you further on up the road

by janie_tangerine



Series: hearts fic thing series [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (FOR HOW BRONN SHOWS IT), (he swears a lot), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bronn Swears (ASoIaF), Explicit Language, Hearts, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Past Abuse, Protectiveness, Soulmates, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, tyrion is probs in for a ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “What in the seven bloody hells,” Bronn curses, opening it and hoping that he’s hallucinating because he’s tired.He’s not.“What the fuck,” he groans as he notices the ball of light nested in the corner of the bag.The pulsing ball of red light.Oh, shit. That’s a heart, isn’t it, it has to be, and - he shakes his head, takes it out of the bag, looks at it for real.Well, shit. The entire thing is….. broken. It’s not that he’s seen that many, but he’s heard how it works, and this one heart is covered in bloody cracks oozing red. Now that he looks at it properly, he thinks that the light around it should be green or black or both because he can see those colors flickering around it, but it takes him a while of really staring at it. It’s warm, at least, and the moment he holds it in between his palms at least the red stops fuc/king moving, but - it’s definitely broken. Very much so.in which soulmates find each other through one of them having the other's heart.or, in which Bronn gets a broken heart without having expected it whatsoever and Tyrion, years later, is looking for a sellsword.
Relationships: Bronn/Tyrion Lannister
Series: hearts fic thing series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623322
Comments: 14
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO the hearts thing on tumblr got out of control and I have prompts for a few sequels with different ships - this is the Bronn/Tyrion one I did for an anon who has Excellent Taste. ;) this was for the first ask which was _Bronn finding out he got a heart?/Bronn getting a broken heart (Tyron's, when Tysha dies)_ which I did post on tumblr, the next one wasn't posted there yet but I'll just put it here directly. The title is from Bruce Springsteen, I own zilch, nothing is mine, also sorry for the unholy amount of swearing.
> 
> WARNING: this implies a slightly changed version of the tysha affair in which jaime didn't take part because as stated he doesn't have a heart in this one at this point. for the rest everything went as canon said sooo I warned you.

Hearts showing up anywhere near him is _not_ a thing that Bronn’s ever even considered, nor _his_ own possibly going to anyone, but then again he never thought about that in depth. After all, given his line of work, it’s absolutely ridiculous to assume that _he_ is the kind of guy who ends up in the middle of a fucking love ballad, never mind that he’s plenty happy enough with using his hard-earned coin to pay for a whore if he can’t find a willing woman that’ll warm his bed when he feels like it. Sentimentalism only brings complications and considering how his own parents were, he thinks he’s good like this and making sure he doesn’t father bastards who’ll grow up the way he did or worse.

So, he’s minding his own bloody business after a job for which he got paid well enough but that left him so tired that he hadn’t even considered going to the nearest brothel. He rented a room, he’s about to go to sleep so he can look for a new one tomorrow, he has a fair amount of gold, life is looking good -

And then his saddlebag becomes _burning hot_ for a moment and he lets it fall to the ground.

_What in the seven hells_ , he thinks, and then the bag starts _glowing_.

Red.

_Fucking glowing red_.

“What in the seven bloody hells,” Bronn curses, opening it and hoping that he’s hallucinating because he’s tired.  


He’s not.

“What the _fuck,_ ” he groans as he notices the ball of light nested in the corner of the bag.  


The _pulsing_ ball of _red_ light.

Oh, _shit_. That’s a heart, isn’t it, it _has_ to be, and - he shakes his head, takes it out of the bag, looks at it for real.

Well, _shit_. The entire thing is….. broken. It’s not that he’s seen that many, but he’s heard how it works, and this one heart is covered in bloody cracks oozing red. Now that he looks at it properly, he _thinks_ that the light around it should be green or black or both because he can see those colors flickering around it, but it takes him a while of _really_ staring at it. It’s warm, at least, and the moment he holds it in between his palms at least the red _stops fuc/king moving_ , but - it’s definitely broken. _Very much so_.

He snorts for a moment - obviously _he_ gets a heart and it’s _visibly_ not whole. He’s not sure he wants to know what’s happened to it, or to whoever this belongs to, but - then he realizes the implications.

One: there’s _someone_ in Westeros whose heart somehow belongs with him.

Two: he’s not so stupid to _not_ know that if a broken heart ends up in your belongings, _you_ are the person supposed to somehow fix it.

The mere idea that _he_ is someone who could _fix someone’s heart_ whoever it is is so absurd that he has to sit down and laugh hard enough that tears come to his eyes because _honestly_ , that’s just - it doesn’t happen to _him_ and he never asked for that either.

But -

He shakes his head, taking back the heart from the table. It’s beating steadfastly now. It’s still cracked open everywhere he can see.

Seven hells.

He should just - get rid of it or _sell_ it or whatever, but the moment he thinks about it he feels his stomach lurch, and _shit_ , that’s not -

All right. _All right_. He sighs, wraps the heart in a piece of soft deer skin he had in his bag, the one he uses to clean his knife, then places it back in the bag.

He supposes he’ll keep it. And if he ever finds whoever it belongs to he’ll see what happens and - well. He supposes he’ll give it back. Or _something_.

For now, he can’t help thinking that he’s not sure he wants to know what made it crack like _that_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Tyrion hires a sellsword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this one, the anon asked _maybe Tyron's POV on the thing and getting his heart back? Or just more Bronn Having Responsabilities. Thank you again, you are great and I love your writing (And by “Bronn Having Responsibilities” I mean “Protective!Bronn” because Tyron deserves someone getting protective over him once in a while. Even if it’s just Bronn cussing out people)_ , which I was more than glad to provide for ;) this is probably it for this one fic but we can never know. XD

In the beginning, hiring a sellsword seems an excellent way to piss his father off, and that’s half of why Tyrion sets off to get himself one after the umpteenth remark he doesn’t really like the day he turns nine and ten - he had been considering it just for the sheer pettiness of it, but the moment he hears his sister telling his father she has _concerns_ that Casterly might go to him, he decides that maybe it would be a wise investment of his money.

Never mind that it could be useful to see that he keeps his little secret - as in, that he hasn’t had his heart since the day his father threw golden coins at Tysha and he doesn’t know what sealed it, if the act itself or the fact that it didn’t appear in her hands later and so it meant that she really _didn’t_ love him or that, if his father had lied about having hired her, which Tyrion is most likely sure of, that she had to suffer through _that_ because she liked him even if they weren’t intended. Still, he said nothing to no one, not even Jaime who lost his before Tyrion did and honestly, Tyrion would rather not worry him any further, not when he’s already… not well, for an understatement.

It had been good, he thinks. Too good for him, probably, and that’s why it had to end, didn’t it. And he’s most likely not ever going to get better - whichever shape his heart was in when he lost it, sure as the seven hells no one would have wanted it.

Anyway, he had figured that if it became known it might cause more trouble than it’s worth, and so he had kept his mouth very shut and acted as usual if not maybe drinking more than he should have, and for now no one has been the wiser.

Yet -

He’s plenty sure that getting protection won’t hurt.

So he goes looking for a sellsword.

–-

Or better: he keeps his eyes open while going around in taverns and the likes, drops the rumor that he _might_ be needing one and in case they’ll know where to find him - he has _some_ favorite taverns, after all - and waits.

He doesn’t wait for very long - two weeks after he starts, some people approach him but he doesn’t like any of them, so he keeps on waiting, and then -

“I heard you’re looking for a sellsword?” He hears as he sips his ale, sitting at his usual table in his usual favorite tavern.

Tyrion turns and glances at the man, motioning for him to sit.

Certainly, he’s not such a burden to look at - fine, his nose was definitely broken, but he never minded _that_ on a man, not that _anyone_ knows that he doesn’t dislike men that way. The black hair and eyes on that lean, wiry frame dressed in leather are certainly _noteworthy_ , and the way he smirks at him as he sits down -

Tyrion might be interested.

“And why should I hire you out of everyone? I _do_ have standards.”

The man half-smiles. “’Course you do. All of you rich cunts do, or am I wrong?”

Tyrion _has_ to snort slightly. He likes that he’s not being deferential, that’s for sure. “I have less than many,” he replies. “But I have a good feeling about you.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “ _Do you_. Well then. I’m Bronn, at your service. I suppose you pay good coin?”

“I suppose I do.” He doesn’t know why he likes how _forward_ is he, but - he does. “How about I give you a seven days trial and we’ll see after? Rewarded, of course.”

“Deal,” Bronn replies. He’s smirking as if he _knows_ something Tyrion doesn’t, but - he’s probably making things up. Well. He’ll see how the trial goes.

–-

Two days later, he’s _really_ thankful he went for it because they were walking outside the Red Keep and the only reasons why he’s not lying on the ground with a knife stuck to his gut was that the man who _tried_ to open up his stomach had missed him the first time and _then_ hadn’t had time to try it again because Bronn had opened _his_ throat instead, in seconds, and efficiently enough Tyrion barely even noticed.

“You’re hired for good,” he says as the golden cloaks take away the corpse. “Triple what you’re getting now.”

“Lucky me,” Bronn says, and accepts the coin he was owed for the trial.

–-

He assumes that he’s gained a good sellsword and that’s the end of it. He’s certainly not expecting to be _friends_ or anything, but Bronn is admittedly someone he actually likes talking to, which… hasn’t happened ever if not counting Jaime. But he has that edge to his humor that Tyrion absolutely enjoys, and maybe it’s not so bad if they’re friendly, he supposes -

That is, until a week after he’s hired him, Cersei is throwing the usual digs his way while they’re breaking their fast and Jaime isn’t there to glare at her at least enough to make her stop, he shrugs and ignores her as he usually does, not that it’s worth anything but admittedly since his heart disappeared he’s minded less than he used to, and then she stands up before he’s finished because _she has business to mind_ and she tears Tommen out of the chair while Joffrey moves his elbow _just so_ that his glass of water falls over his food and it’s… definitely ruined. He sighs. He’ll get something else later -

Then he hears a crash on the ground and raises his eyes to see that Joffrey has so not graciously tripped over _something_ and crashed into his sister _ripping her dress as he did_. She screeches for a bit, _who was it_ and so on, but they can’t figure it out and leave before Joffrey has to admit he put a foot wrong.

Except that Bronn was standing next do the door, wasn’t he. Tyrion stands up, carefully making his way towards the place where Joffrey slipped.

“Is this _butter_?” He hisses when he’s sure no one is around.

“Might be,” Bronn shrugs. “Might not. Anyway, I’m at a loss finding out who’s more of a cunt out of those two, if you don’t mind me sayin’, so how about we get food at some tavern? I’m starving.”

Oh.

_Oh_. All right then. Tyrion agrees and they break their fast at one of the taverns around the Red Keep.

He doesn’t know why he feels warmer somehow -

But he somehow does.

–-

He makes nothing of it.

Until one day he’s giving Tommen some history lessons because _he_ asked saying that he was interested in learning more about Aegon III but his maester said it wasn’t important and he had to focus on teaching Joffrey something else and Joffrey, _of course_ , walks in on them. He sneers at them with his mother’s green eyes and his father’s dark hair as his brother cringes.

“I see that you found out just where you belong?” Joffrey asks. Tommen flinches ever so slightly.

“What,” Bronn, who had been cleaning his knife in the background says, “with people who can use their brain? Good for him. No one taught me shit when I was his age.”

Joffrey glares at him. “My mother will know -”

“About what?” Tyrion immediately says. “He didn’t say anything now, did he?”

“No,” Tommen nods at once, sounding suddenly like he has some more confidence in it. “I heard nothing.”

“I said nothing,” Bronn goes on.

Joffrey just glares at them and says next time he’ll come with a kingsguard. Tommen bursts out laughing the moment the door closes and Tyrion mouths _did you go insane_ at Bronn -

Who shrugs again. “He’s the most spoiled cunt I’ve ever seen,” he says. “Someone should point it out.”

Tommen laughs again and says he likes him.

Tyrion just tells him to go back to their book.

–-

Later, they’re on the walls of the city. Bronn hands him a wine skin. Tyrion doesn’t know what they’re even doing, but -

“You know,” he says, “I don’t know if you meant it, but. I mean, if you feel like you were deprived of history lessons in your formative years you can ask for a summary of whatever you’d like to know.”

Bronn raises an eyebrow. “That’d be the first time in existence someone told me it was a talent I could try and fuck/ing develop,” he says.

Tyrion shrugs. “Certainly you’re not a bloody idiot or anything of the kind. And for what it’s worth you’d enjoy hearing how Daemon Targaryen died in detail, I think.”

“Shoot,” Bronn says, “I’m always up to learn about interesting deaths.”

Tyrion tells him. Bronn actually listens. “Huh,” he says at the end. “Certainly a cunt who knew how to go out in style.”

Tyrion _does_ laugh at that. Harder than he has since he lost his heart.

Like he used to once upon a time, maybe.

He doesn’t know if they’re friends, but -

He wants to think they are.

\--

Things proceed like this for a while, and Tyrion wonders if he’s getting adjusted to having someone around who’s not Jaime who actually seems to give a fuck, and then one evening Joffrey makes some joke about how he’s pretty sure that dwarves have to be born without hearts and he should see if _he_ has one because surely he doesn’t, and he only gets out of Cersei letting him try it because their father says to stop that nonsense and that he’d know even too well if he had one or not, and he keeps his face straight -

That is, until he notices that Bronn isn’t looking their way with that usual expression of _I am laughing at how idiotic most of you rich cunts are_.

He’s staring at Joffrey like he straight up wants to murder him.

What the -

He needs to ask.

Later.

\--

Later, he stops Bronn in front of his room after having been escorted. “You know,” he said, “no need to make people suspect you’re planning Joffrey’s murder. He’s right, even if he doesn’t know.”

Bronn stares at him as if… it’s not a new information. “I knew,” he sighs.

“Wait, _you knew?_ How -”

“I didn’t guess,” Bronn says. “But - fuck it all. Just come with me,” he says, and Tyrion follows him to his room, smaller than his, of course, but he made sure it would be comfortable.

Bronn grabs a bag from the far corner of it, and Tyrion wonders if -

No.

It’s really _not_ possible. There is no way that -

“See,” Bronn says, “years ago I was minding my fucking business, going to bed after a job well done and shit, and suddenly _this_ appears in front of me.”

A moment later, he produces something hidden by soft leather and then he moves the piece of cloth away and -

_Fuck_.

There’s a heart underneath. A heart that looks completely cracked and oozing red light, _but_ is otherwise… green and black.

The exact same shade of his eyes.

Oh, _fuck_ -

“When I got it,” Bronn sighs, “it was - just red. You could barely see the rest. And the first thing I thought was that if _fate_ thought that _I_ was the right person to fix whatever the hell was wrong with it then we’d make a damned sorry couple, but — well, I kept it because I’m not _that_ kind of cunt. I looked around, obviously, and no one showed up that felt right and it stayed red like that.”

“It’s… not now, though.”

Bronn sighs. “Well, when I got here and heard _you_ were looking for a sell sword I thought Lannister money would be sweet, on top of maybe crown money, so I went to find you and — I mean, I didn’t think it would be you. Then I saw the eyes. Then I talked to you and — fuck me, it wasn’t the same as when I talked to anyone that ever employed me.”

“It — wasn’t?”

“It felt different.” He shrugs. “That said, I thought it might be a coincidence. Then I saved your hide two days later, I came back and some of that red shrunk.”

Oh.

_Oh_ , for —

“I thought it might be a fluke, then I put made sure your nephew would ruin your sister’s dress and it shrunk again. The way it’s now? It happened all since you hired me, before it was mostly just fucking red. Believe me, no one was more surprised than me that it was fucking working, but — well. It was.”

Tyrion thinks he’s going to fucking _faint_. “And you didn’t say before because…?”

“I don’t know,” Bronn replies, rolling his eyes, “as friendly as we are, I don’t think telling straight to the guy who employs you that you’re pretty fucking sure you have their heart and therefore fucking _propositioning_ them would be a good idea.”

That — makes sense, sure, Tyrion can’t even disagree about it. No one in Bronn’s position would have done that unless they wanted to look like some kind of gold digger, except that —

“And — what’s your, uh, opinion on this whole matter?”

Tyrion is almost sure that Bronn’s going to answer that he wished he ended up with anyone else, and of course he would, because he’s entirely too aware of how he looks and sure as the seven hells everyone he’s related to except Jaime, Tommen and Myrcella reminds him of that even if they’re not actively trying to —

“That for being stuck forever with someone, given that _you_ are fine with it, I met cunts entirely worse than you,” Bronn says, and wait, _what_ — “At least you have a sense of humor and you don’t think you’re so much better than us poor bloody commoners.”

Somehow, considering who it comes from, that _almost_ sounds sweet. Almost.

“Also,” Bronn goes on, “I might not be exactly the most fucking correct person you’ll ever meet, but I think that at this point I would be a real proper cunt if I kept it, so — well. We probably should — do this. At least.”

Tyrion is kind of ashamed that his first instinct is telling him to keep it because at the end of it not having it _did_ save him enough heartbreak and he’s fairly sure that not caring all that much was a reason why he hasn’t completely lost it since Tysha, but —

_But_.

But Bronn is right, and he can’t be the kind of coward that _refuses to have his heart back_ just because he’s dead afraid of facing the entire matter after, well. _After_. Especially counting that he already thinks Bronn’s really fucking attractive and he has done it for a while, and he hasn’t really let himself dwell on it, but —

_But_.

He breathes in. “You’re right,” he says. “Uh, then you should — I mean —”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it goes. Maybe his highness should open his shirt.”

“I’m not anyone’s _highness_ ,” Tyrion snorts back, appreciating that he’s trying to make it less tense, and then he opens his shirt and bares the left side of his chest where his heart hasn’t beat since _then_ —

Bronn places it against his breast almost too gently, more than he had imagined he would, and then suddenly he’s feeling like he’s burning from the inside out as it slips inside and he has to close his eyes for how fucking _painful_ it is, all scorching hot _pain_ making its way through his flesh like he’ll explode if it doesn’t stop at once, and for a moment he wonders _is it giving me back all the pain I haven’t suffered since it left_ —

And then it’s suddenly gone, and he’s breathing in and out and Bronn’s hand is on his chest and his heartbeat has started again and he’s still hot all over and when he opens his eyes and stares into Bronn’s dark ones they look… a tad softer than usual.

“Huh,” Bronn says, “you can see the difference.”

“… How exactly?”

“Because before now I guessed your mood looking at how you smirked, now I don’t think I need that.”

“And what mood would I be now _exactly_?” Tyrion asks, his hand grabbing Bronn’s wrist before he can think about it —

“The mood for _this_ ,” Bronn says, and then his mouth is pressed against Tyrion’s as he leans forward and _oh_ , it’s a lot softer and slower than he’d have pictured, and at _that_ his heart beats faster and _faster_ , as if it’s rejoicing of it, and —

And so he parts his lips and kisses him back and _oh_ , suddenly it feels right, more than _anything_ else has ever felt, and he can feel how rough Bronn’s fingers are against his chest and he thinks he can feel that red in what used to be his heart outside his body recede a bit more, and then Bronn moves back with a satisfied smirk on his face, but his eyes aren’t finding this hilarious at all.

“Guess I was right,” he says.

“Not going to disagree,” Tyrion breathes. “Also, you know we can’t —”

“Sure as hell I don’t want your fucking father or sister to guess any of this, don’t worry. I can be discreet,” he winks, and Tyrion’s heart lurches again —

Fuck this all to the seven hells and back.

“Do you think you would be up to be proved right again?” Tyrion blurts, wishing that feeling everything at once wasn’t so — so _much_ , but he probably just has to get adjusted to it again.

“Fucking finally,” Bronn agrees, and leans down and kisses him _again_ , intently, and this time he’s ready for it —

And maybe, he thinks, _maybe_ it’s not completely true that losing his heart that first time wasn’t the end of all things when it came to — to have someone he cared about. Maybe if he plays his cards right this time it can be a new beginning and he can keep it this time.

But he’s not going to think about this _now_ — he’ll kiss Bronn back as rough hands find the back of his head and his own grasp at long, dark hair, and he’ll relish in how much he’s feeling _everything_ all over again.

Then he can think about how he gets to keep it for a very, very long time.

End.


End file.
